


Turns Out Death's Not As Permanent As You'd Thought

by pedipalps



Series: Adventures In Vampirism [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, I will think of more tags later, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, character tags will be added as more characters are introduced but its mainly just the boys, davekat - Freeform, i wrote this instead of paying attention in class, minor character death technically, vampire au because we need more of those i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16029344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pedipalps/pseuds/pedipalps
Summary: You think you’re dying. You can feel your heartbeat still, so hard in the crook of your elbow that you can hear it in your ears, and it’s. It’s your heart. That’s for sure. There’s no doubt about that. What’s really terrifying, though, is that it’s slowing down.You can feel yourself dying, you realize. Everything feels faster, though, and you don’t think that’s right. You always thought it would be slower, like your heart is getting. There’s blood dripping from your elbow, streaming from the wound and falling to the ground. You’ve always hated the sight of blood, your own included.The shaking in your hands gets harder, your breathing gets ragged, and you feel your heart stop.And then you scream.------Or, alternatively, Karkat Vantas dies but also doesn't.





	Turns Out Death's Not As Permanent As You'd Thought

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo its ya boye back at it again 
> 
> enjoy my vampire nonsense

You’re on your way home from work, your hands in your pockets, your keys in your hand, wondering whether it’s safe enough to check your phone or not, walking through an alley at 11:30 at night. You’re cursing yourself yet again for wrecking your bike, meaning you had to walk to and from your house when you had to work. 

You don’t see it coming.

Or, rather, you don’t see him coming. He’s got you before you have a chance to get away, before you knew he was there, and you don’t even know what’s happening before he’s got you pinned against the wall of the alley with one arm across your neck, his wrist pressing against your throat and his elbow digging into your shoulder, keeping you in place. 

He leans in close to you, and your stupid terrified mind assumes he’s got a knife or something, and before you can think about it, you’re begging. “Look, I’ll- I’ll give you whatever you want, I don’t- I don’t have any-”

You’re stopped when he looks up at you, at your face, and you see his for the first time. You can’t focus on it, though, because all you can see is a pair of piercing red eyes that almost look like they’re glowing in the shadows of the alley. You’re mesmerized, and all you can think is rubies, they look like rubies look in movies, and the thought floods your mind so full that you hardly notice when the stranger who’s holding you leans back down, picking up your right wrist in his left hand and bringing it up to his mouth, sinking his fangs into the skin of your arm, in the crook of your elbow. You hiss at pain that you can hardly feel, but you don’t struggle, lost in your own mind, made dizzy by those eyes until your daze is broken by sounds further down the alley. 

It’s a group of kids, teenagers probably, and they’re laughing and joking and making their presence known to anyone who might have happened to be in the vicinity, including you and -- the thought only now registers in your mind -- the fucking vampire who’s drinking your blood right now holy shit. 

And he does hear them, you know he does. You know because he hears them before you do, makes a kind of slurp-gulp sound like someone who just got surprised while taking a drink (ha fucking ha) and has to spit some of it back out. You actually feel some of your own blood get pushed back into your veins from his mouth, which feels disgusting and sickening and yet strangely energizing, for some reason (you don’t think it’s because you’re getting your blood back but you refuse to think of why else it might be). He jerks his head away from your arm to look that direction and fucking cuts your arm open even further (fucking ow, now that you’re actually aware of the pain -- actually, your whole arm is throbbing now) as he turns to look at them. 

Then, he seems to realize something and looks back at your arm, and quietly says “shit”. There’s more sound at the opening of the alley again, then, which makes him look back yet another time, and you hear him say “shit. Fuck,” and he shakes his head and says “fuck” again, with a much more frustrated tone to his voice this time.

And then he’s gone, and you’re left where you are, against the wall of an alley, and you slump down to the ground, your back sliding against and catching on the bricks behind you. As soon as he’s gone, you no longer want to think about what he was. You can’t think about what he was. Your eyes are wide, you can feel yourself sweating, and you can feel your own heartbeat in your arm more clearly than you’ve ever been able to anywhere else. You’re sitting on your own feet, crouched down, and you grab a hold of your head, tangle your fingers in your own hair and pull, before you jerk your hands away from your head and stare at them, almost like you’re trying to make sure that they’re still there. You’re burning. You can feel it, originating where the -- (you can’t think it anymore, you're not entirely sure why you won't let yourself but you can’t) the thing bit you, and it’s only getting worse. You think you’re dying. You can feel your heartbeat still, so hard in the crook of your elbow that you can hear it in your ears, and it’s. It’s your heart. That’s for sure. There’s no doubt about that. What’s really terrifying, though, is that it’s slowing down. 

You can feel yourself dying, you realize. Everything feels faster, though, and you don’t think that’s right. You always thought it would be slower, like your heart is getting. There’s blood dripping from your elbow, streaming from the wound and falling to the ground. You’ve always hated the sight of blood, your own included. 

The shaking in your hands gets harder, your breathing gets ragged, and you feel your heart stop.

And then you scream. 

You scream for what feels like forever and no time at all, and you would have kept on with it if you hadn’t gotten a hand firmly smacked over your mouth. Really, it wouldn’t have been able to do much in the way of actually preventing the travel of sound, but it does shut you up fairly well because it kind of scares the shit out of you.

He speaks in a terse whisper. “Shut the fuck up or someone will hear you.”

You almost start screaming again because that’s when you actually look at who it is that’s trying to keep you quiet and you realize that it’s the same person as the one who technically just killed you. Also, your heart still most definitely isn’t beating, which hasn’t stopped freaking you out or anything. Instead of screaming, though, you grab him by the wrist and pull his hand off of your mouth before you reply in a whisper of your own. It’s harsh and probably a pretty good amount louder than his was, but it’s still quieter than your normal speaking voice by a great bit. “And why exactly should I trust you? You mugged me and now I’m pretty sure I’m dead because of you, you asshole. How do I know you won’t try to pull some kind of bullshit?”

You hear him murmur “Jesus Christ, that’s still not quiet” and have to stop yourself from giving some kind of retort until he speaks again. “Because as little as I fucking want you to be, you’re kind of my responsibility now. That, and I’m the only person who can help you right now.” 

You’ve gotta admit, he makes a pretty good case. Granted, you still hate this guy, based purely on the absolutely fantastic first impression he made, but it’s not like you have any kind of fucking idea about what’s happening to you. As in, you’re pretty sure that if your heart has stopped beating, you probably shouldn’t be as not-dead as you seem to be. After taking this into consideration, you answer. “Fine. Whatever. If you think you know what’s happening to me then I’m all fucking ears, but I wanna get the fuck out of here.” After you say this, you realize that you kind of can’t move. You’re physically able to, sure, but you’re too weak to be able to stand up right now. You sigh, and you curse yourself as you decide to ask this complete stranger for his help. “Get me to…” you pause, trying to think of a place, and can’t come up with anything for some reason. “Somewhere else. Now, preferably, and really anywhere would be better than here. Take me back to my fucking job for all I give a shit, just get me out of this gross ass alley.” 

You cross your arms and glare at the person who’s still crouching next to you and is holding the hand that was previously on your mouth in front of his like he’s trying not to laugh. Fucking asshole. You tell him to shut up even though he hasn't technically said anything, and then you don't say anything at all as the air you hadn't realized you weren't breathing was knocked out of you as your brand new best friend -- in what you know is only about a half of a second but feels like at least a full minute -- wraps one arm around your midsection and just fucking _jumps_ and before you know it you're standing on top of the building you just died leaning against. 

You think you’re hyperventilating, even though you weren’t breathing before and you don’t need to now. You’re freaked out beyond belief, but before you have time to even think you’re being carried through the air again, somehow on your killer-slash-savior’s back, as he jumps across rooftops, traveling across the city faster than any car could ever hope to go. 

After a few minutes that feel almost like an eternity, he stops on top of an apartment building, shorter than the towers and other complexes surrounding it, and walking over to a door on the roof that you discover leads to a stairwell, which he swiftly makes his way down. He doesn’t go far though, stopping after only a couple of flights, turning to the right, and opening a door into an apartment labelled with the number 413 to reveal a small studio apartment with very little furniture, with a light in the ceiling that had been left turned on from the last time he was here. To either side, you can see a bed, a small closet, and a set of drawers, with a tiny kitchen unit set in the center, across from the doorway. Next to the closet door on the right side is another that you guess leads to a bathroom. 

You climb down off of the stranger’s back and follow him as he walks towards the bed on the right and sits down. He pulls out a cell phone and texts someone, both sending and receiving messages for a few minutes before he turns the screen off and sets it down next to him on the bed before turning to you. 

“So, would now be a good time for an introduction, or should I wait until tomorrow?”

You think you’re in shock, because there’s no reason you should feel as relaxed as you do. You shrug, and reply, “I honestly don’t give a shit. I am extremely tired, though, so maybe take that into account if you’re going to lecture me because I might not be able to pay attention.”

“Yeah, okay, that makes sense.” He kind of just stands there for a second, before continuing. “Really, both of these beds are mostly for show, ‘cause like, I don’t have to sleep, and stuff. Well, I still can, but it’s not like, required. And uh, you won’t have to, either. I mean, you do now, but that’s just because you’re still fresh-”

You cut him off by walking past him towards one of the beds, the one on the right, and stand next to it and point at it. “Can I use this, or are you going to keep rambling at me for the rest of the night?” 

He turns around a bit sheepishly to look at you and nods. “Uh, yeah. That one’s mine. Go ahead, I guess, I’ll just chill out over here until you wake up.” He points to the small kitchen, and pulls out a chair and sits down at a small table, pulling out his phone. 

You don’t say anything to him, instead opting to sit down on the edge of the bed at first, before laying down and resting your head on the pillows that were already there, too tired to even pull a blanket over yourself before you drift off to sleep. As you go, you almost feel like he's watching you, but you’re pulled away to sleep before you can give it a second thought.

**Author's Note:**

> the only reason I'm posting this as multiple chapters is to force myself to actually write the whole thing
> 
> kudos and comments are hella appreciated 
> 
> follow me on tumblr at not-dirk-strider
> 
>  


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